


The Scars Left Behind

by wolfstsrshipper



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Harry grieves, Night Mare, PTSD, Violence, War Mention, death mention, he has to figure out how to cope, other characters appear in dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:41:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25554493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfstsrshipper/pseuds/wolfstsrshipper
Summary: Harry needs time to cope after the war. He goes on a road trip across the USA. After he picks up a hitchhiker, who understands the hardships of war, he finally lets himself break.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley
Kudos: 12





	The Scars Left Behind

**Author's Note:**

> Saw this idea off a post on Instagram. No idea about the owner, but thank you! All inspirational props to you!

Walking into it, he knew it would soon become “The Boy Who _Died_.” When he realized he was very much alive, a part of him _wanted_ to be figured out. He didn’t want to have to live and see all of the faces that were there, and all the ones that weren’t. It was his fault, after all, he told himself. When he killed Him, it was justice, but something was killed along with him. A few days went by, and soon Aurors came for him to question and recruit him. It was a week before he got out of the ministry with an International Travel slip and pre-registered wand. He couldn’t stay in Britain anymore. Everywhere he looked, there were people congratulating him, telling him about the ones they lost and the ones he saved. Asking for his real story, not ones Rita Skeeter had ever written.

He couldn’t take it anymore, which is why he was going to America. It didn’t take much convincing from Ginny that he deserved to do this for himself. And of course, he would be coming back. It was just for a month or two. Driving across the country. He would start near New York, which is where MACUSA was, and then end up somewhere near the Western Border.

Suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder, making him jump slightly and look up at the figure. "Harry? Are you listening?"

"What? Yes, yes, of course, Kingsley. My apologies."

"Quite alright. Are you alright with the plan? Everything makes sense?"

"Yeah." Harry would have snapped at him, it was easy enough and he wasn't stupid, but he felt he didn't have it in him to do so. He was to use the portkey in twenty minutes and it would take him directly to one of MACUSA's departments, who would provide him a car and a fake driver's license, along with some "no-maj" money, as they called them. He already went through the schooling and had his driver's license in Britain, but it wouldn't hold up across the ocean. He couldn't wait, he would be another nameless face, driving across the country.

It had already been a month. Each night he pulled over and slept in his car on the side of the road, or if there was a motel he would confund the owner and stay the night there. He would often wake up with a yell, drenched in sweat and wand pulled out, ready to strike. Others he woke in tears and screams of apologies to the deaths he never got to mourn or get over. In the day, he would drive non-stop. Playing whatever music came on the radio. He picked up hitchhikers he saw on the side of the road and asked them of their stories. He figured it was safe enough since they were most likely "no-majs," and it felt good to be on the other side for a change. The other side of the story, that is. He kept his wand in the middle compartment of the two front seats. He rarely used it because every time he did it felt tainted and wrong. The only things he associated with it were loss and hurt and pain and darkness. He had yet to be recognized, apart from the old witch in the gas station when he went for food.

Harry had gone two weeks before he had seen another hitchhiker, and this one seemed a bit different. He pulled over to the side and put the car in park, then rolled the car down. "Fancy a ride, mate?” The man he was talking to was cleanly shaved with buzzed hair and square shoulders. He had an official look about him. He reminded Harry of one of the Head Aurors after they got off duty.

“Yeah. Thanks. I'm Hotch.” He opened the door and swung himself into the seat.

“I'm Harry." He locked the doors and, with a glance over his shoulder, merged back into traffic. "How far are you going, then?”

“Away. Just keep going.”

“Same as me I take it?” He asked, looking over to the man. His face was unreadable, but tense. Harry guessed he was in his late twenties.

“Not exactly.”

“Are you a veteran?” He asked abruptly after a silence.

“Yeah." The man looked a little surprised at that. "No family. I can’t stay in that small town anymore.”

_So same as me,_ Harry thought to himself. Neither of them talked, but they soon got very comfortable with the silence between them, so it wasn't a problem. The only sound was the radio playing softly. Before either of them knew it, it was dark. Harry's eyes felt heavy, and he knew he should stop driving. Only they were in the middle of nowhere. He rubbed his eyes and tilted his head to the side, asking Hotch: "Hey, mate. Would you like to take over driving? Just keep going west."

"You're going to trust me to drive?" He raised his eyebrow in confusion.

"You trusted me enough to get in the car. Besides, haven't tried to have a go at me this far, have you?" _Plus what are you doing to do?_ Harry said in his head. They pulled to the side of the road and changed places. Harry had taught himself to be quiet when there were other people around him if he ever slept, especially because of the Dursley's and Duddley. Maybe it would hold up.

Sadly, around three in the morning, a nightmare tugged his mind into defense. He was at Malfoy Manner. Hermione was upstairs and her screams were echoing down the hallway. Malfoy was curled in the corner, crying about how he had no choice as Dobby lay dead at his heels, his blood from the knife wound seeping onto the floor. A moment later, Sirius was at the door, opening it. _"Come, Harry! We must go!"_

_"But Hermione! Malfoy! We must save them!"_

_"No time!"_ He led Harry through the hallway, but as they turned the corner they appeared at a cemetery. Rows upon rows of names. He turned to look at Sirius, confused, but he was no longer there. Now it was Voldemort. He used his wand and levitated him in the air and throw him across the graveyard and into his father's gravestone, splitting it into two. _"The boy who lived. Come to die. So many lives wasted on someone so useless. All of this,"_ he gestured around him. _"They could have been prevented. Instead, you choose one life over several, knowing you will meet the same fate_." Ron appeared from behind him.

_"I lost Fred because of you."_

_"I lost my parents,"_ Hermione said.

_"I will never even_ know _my parents. You cursed me to a fate like yours. So selfish."_ Said, what Harry assumed, was a grown version of Teddy.

_"And you."_ Said Remus. _"I had one person who actually loved me left. Who went through my pain with me because we were family. Everyone else was killed or insane. You rushed into battle and he had to come save you. In the process, he died. All of these deaths, Harry. All of them rest on you."_ They all looked at Voldemort and he smiled mercilessly.

_"You see. You are forever alone, Harry."_ Tears clouded his vision and his throat hurt, but it was cut abruptly when Voldemort cried out, " _Avada Kedavera!"_

Harry bolted upright in his car seat with a yelp, frantic and ready to fight. Hotch, next to him, swore loudly and swerved off the road before straightening out the car. He looked over at Harry and watched as the boy fought to level his breathing. "Sorry. Bad dream." Harry muttered. He'd only been asleep for a few hours. At least it wasn't as bad as it could have been.

"How often?"

"What?" Harry was still fighting his breathing and taking in his surroundings. His eyelids were still a bit heavy and his mind was processing all too slow. 

"It seemed like a pretty bad nightmare, and you seem unfazed. You said it was your fault." There was an awkward silence that fell between them before Harry quietly explained.

“I was a soldier too. From a young age. Had to pick sides quickly. It was easy considering one side killed my whole family and lots of others without reason.” Hotch looked over at him, his usually unreadable face became screwed up with sadness and horror. But he knew that sometimes in war, age didn't matter. "That's how I knew you were a soldier. Had the same look to you."

"How young?"

"You won't like your answer, mate."

"How young, son."

"Depends. I was one when they were killed. But I started fighting when I was eleven after He tried to kill me." Harry had no idea what he was saying, or why he was saying it, but it felt nice. This was a person who was a soldier and had no idea who he was or had any connections with his past. He didn't know every detail. Maybe that's what he needed. A person who doesn't know him but understands. A person he will never have to see again. "I was at the head of the whole thing. Wasn't a person who didn't know my name or face. And I hated it. Couldn't take it. After the whole thing, I tried to pretend like everything was fine. Everything was ok. Life could be normal once you win. You can look your best friends in the eye and say, _'I know you lost some of your family, but it's ok! I know you were tortured while our other friend died, but it's ok! I lived_!' Then go marry. It can't be normal." There were tears rolling down his face. "How can you live a life you didn't think you would ever get to finish? How can you stare at a wan- a barrel two inches from your eyes and think you’ll die loving someone you will never see again? Then just go back and see them and continue and marry and have kids?”

“Were you a prisoner? Undercover?”

“Both. And lost. I trusted so few. The government was destroyed during this, so nothing was spared. Even then we were running. I never knew if we were running for our lives or towards the very thing that would kill us. Both ways, trying to end the war. After about fourty years, we won. I walked out, having blood on my hands from killing the enemy, and the blood of my parents, my friends, children, adults, everyone I know and more. Even those who didn't die, they wish they did. I had a mate I hated, he was a real git. But, he was forced to the wrong side. I think he will forever be more broken than I am." Harry let out a watery chuckle. "Maybe it's selfish to think I'm one of the more broken ones. I may have gotten back alive, but something’s dead. I'm not the same.” Hotch was silent for a long moment, gathering his courage to ask a simple question.

“How old are you now?”

“Nineteen. As I said. If you didn’t fight, you died. No one had problems adapting you into the war. Just another untrustful face.” There were a few minutes of no speaking, tears rolling down Harry's face, even Hotch's vision became blurry. “I think the dead thing is me. When I looked at him in the eyes and killed him I think I killed myself too. In the mirror, there is a man I don't recognize.“ He looked at the man, who seemed unreactive besides the empathy and _understanding_ in his eyes.

“No. No, you lived. You are living. Talking about this, here and now. Crying. Showing humanity, it is proof you are living. It’s hard, I understand, it is hard. But you will go back and you will marry the one you love when you’re ready. Settle down. Have a kid. When you understand that it is ok for you to be happy, for you to feel safe and loved. It will take work for you to get there, but you will. One day, you will find yourself in the mirror again, and you will see a boy who _lived_. And kid, now that you are out of the war, you must get the war out of you. Like every soldier must do.” Harry curled into himself and let his shoulders shake. He let his tears continue to flow. Hotch pulled the car over and Harry hopped out, sinking to his knees in the grass and sobbing. Not caring about how he looked. He never allowed himself to mourn like this. He only ever let him hate himself and feel angry, or refuse to process it. It was inevitable he would one day have to process it, and now was that time.

All of the deaths. James. Lily. Mad-Eye. Dobby. Colin. Cedric. Dumbledore. Tonks.

Sirius.

Remus.

_Remus_ and his kid who would grow up _parentless_ like Harry did. Only Harry would make sure Teddy knew how loved he was. How he had a family. One thing you learn. Family isn't blood.

He sat in the grass and curled up as sobs wracked his body, over and over until it was impossible to breathe. He didn't care that white flowers had sprung up around him or that he had made it start to rain. It was his first step in being able to go home and look Ginny in the eye and marry her.


End file.
